I Say It's My Birthday

Today, at about 8:00 p.m., I will be 36 years old. Every year I remember that I was born during prime-time TV because my dad has so often told me that the nurses who delivered me were eager to finish up so they could watch the television premiere of The Poseidon Adventure. My dad, who is hilarious, e-mailed me this synopsis: "about the SS Poseidon: A big cruise boat in a storm. I remember it had: Gene Hackman, Ernest Borgnine and a big fat Shelly Winters. It was on TV at 8:30 that night you were born...all the nurses wanted to see it and you were getting in the way."

I'm celebrating in style this year, hooked up to the chemo pump all day and probably spending most of it in bed. On my 35th birthday, Jude had surgery for a ruptured appendix. If we have another medical issue on Oct. 27 next year, I might start to fear the anniversary of my birth.

The photo above is from a couple years ago. Check out all the hair!

Thirty-six strikes me as a more interesting landmark year than most. To wit:

• I have reached child/adult equilibrium: 18 years living with parents, 18 years living away from them.
• I have known Ben for half of my life. We met in marching band my first year at Northwestern.
• 20 years of driving! No moving violations...yet.
• Four years to prepare for turning 40. Getting older is fine with me, but I'd like to do something challenging that I CHOOSE (cancer is challenging, but....) around that birthday. Run a 10K? Overseas trip? Run a 10K overseas? I've made almost no steps toward either so the possibilities are wiiiiiiide open. By then Sam would probably run with me and be at the finish line eating doughnuts before I get there. But I would still be older and wiser.